Ambrose Monk looked over the letter from his brother Jack for the twentieth time since he'd received it. He admired Jack Jr.'s neat handwriting. It was very much like Adrian's and his own. Could that be innate? He'd have to Google that at some point and filed the question away in his mind. Ambrose folded the letter carefully and placed it back in the envelope. He put that into the section of his rolltop desk reserved for personal correspondence. Ambrose was both excited and nervous, his heart beating with anticipation. At last, he'd have some company in the big old house he'd lived in for his entire 64 years on Earth.
Jack Jr. was leaving Bayside Correctional in a few days and would be arriving on Ambrose's doorstep. Ambrose, the eldest of the siblings, wasn't sure what had prompted him to extend the invitation to his youngest brother for a place to live, considering they'd never even met in person. Still, the invitation surprised and irked Adrian, making it worthwhile for at least the temporary satisfaction of aggravating Adrian with sibling rivalry.
Ambrose was usually far beyond sibling rivalry emotionally. But Adrian always won. He had it all. A brilliant career. A gorgeous wife. Beautiful children. It was only fitting that Ambrose got something in his life after all this time. Wasn't it? Jealousy was petty and childish. He knew it. And worst of all, he adored his sister-in-law, nieces, and nephew. And although he left the house now, rare as it was, Ambrose still didn't have that many people in his life. Not being alone would be an adjustment and a relief after so many years. Plus, he was pretty sure Jack wouldn't stay forever. Even their father was in agreement with that; in fact, Jack Sr. was the one who said it first.
The doorbell rang. Ambrose left his desk and shut the light in his office. Waiting behind the front door was one of the few people in Ambrose's life. Meg Childs, his interior decorator. He was working on one room at a time now that his father had come home and declared he didn't want or need anything that Ambrose had so carefully saved all the years he'd been gone.
Hurt and not just a little angry, Ambrose had hired a moving service to lug everything to the garbage dump that was 2.2 miles from the house, a fact that used to keep his brother awake at night. Adrian believed he could smell the dump if the wind were right. It was his imagination, Ambrose knew; Adrian's room didn't even face that side of the house. As the older brother, Ambrose should have known then that Adrian needed help, but he had been so caught in his own web of issues that he couldn't recognize that need. Guilt ate at him on and off through the years, but as he watched his younger brother navigate the world, Ambrose was inspired by the resilience and strength Adrian displayed despite the mental health issues that sometimes held him back. Then there was Trudy, and everything had changed for Adrian. Then he lost Trudy, and the downward spiral nearly did Adrian in for good. Then there was Natalie, and Adrian had changed again. Improving even more than he had before. It had inspired Ambrose to dare to get help with his issues, and he'd made progress with his therapist online.
Now, he and Adrian had an even younger brother with his own issues. Lying, stealing, conning people out of their money. Ambrose felt this was also a mental health issue, possibly a manifestation of a personality disorder, and would discuss continued therapy with Jack immediately. He'd been working hard on himself while incarcerated but would have to keep it up. Dr. Bell would have to recommend someone.
Ambrose smoothed his already perfect sweater vest. He opened the door after a cautious peek out the window in the door, smiled his shy smile, and greeted Meg.
"Hello, Ms. Childs. You're looking lovely today."
"Ambrose, you are such a charmer. And I've told you to call me Meg, Megan, Megs, but not Ms. Childs. I am not your third-grade teacher!" She smiled and winked at him as she passed him on her way through the door, pulling a wheeled bag behind her. She walked just close enough to brush up against him, and he inhaled sharply. Megs was a lovely woman of around 55. One wouldn't call a middle-aged woman pretty, would they? She was single after a terrible and hard-fought divorce, he'd learned through conversation. The scent of her perfume arrested him. Nervous feelings welled up inside him.
Ambrose closed the door with a snap and followed her into the living room with its faded wallpaper and curtains, a testament to the neglect the house had suffered in recent years. Well, since their father had left and then their mother died. He couldn't wait to see what she had brought to show him to redo the drab and boring room. If their conversation went well, and he didn't get too nervous again, he'd invite her to stay for lunch. He'd made famous butternut squash soup and a lovely Cobb salad.